just like them
by 122940756
Summary: Clay Terran is the only constant in the life Apollo leads, and he makes sure to recognize this. (contains aa6 spoilers)
1. terran's an ill-fitting surname

"...the what now?"

They sat on plush carpet as they pored over the night's homework, a half-eaten bowl of snacks laying forgotten nearby the small coffee table. Clay's side of the table looked as if a storm had hit; papers scattered everywhere, even on the floor next to him, yet he looked calm and collected as he leaned over to look at his friend's assignment. Apollo, on the other hand, had all his notes neatly organized in his lap as he frowned at his handiwork.

Clay laughed, handing the brown-haired boy opposite him one of his papers. "The theorem! See how it's on a closed interval? That means you follow this formula."

Apollo regarded the paper with a blank expression. "...oh, yeah. I have that in my notes here somewhere..." He began to dig through his own stack. "Still though... we have to memorize all of these?" He sighed. "I'm so screwed."

The other boy retracted his paper and resumed his lazy chin-in-hand posture, playing with his pencil idly. "You've got this, 'Pollo," he cheered neutrally, a smile gracing his features.

This didn't seem to inspire a lot of confidence. "I've never been any good at advanced maths. Numbers just aren't my thing." After about a minute of staring between his located notes sheet and his work, he scribbled down an equation. "Is this right?"

Clay took a look. "Hm... yeah, that looks good. Now just solve it."

"Right."

He watched as Apollo hit the keys on his calculator with more force than he probably needed, jotting a few supplementary numbers down as he went. Finally he wrote a number he seemed vaguely confident in and glanced up at Clay for approval. When the taller boy nodded his head, Apollo threw his hands into the air. "Finally!" he bellowed, though not on purpose—he always seemed to accidentally invoke his Chords of Steel whenever he got excited. "I think I almost understand it now."

Clay chuckled. "That's great! Now for the other four concepts we learned today..."

Apollo let his hands hang in the air. " _Jesus,_ Clay... let me celebrate for longer than a few seconds, would you?" He lowered them down to the table once again, expression forlorn. "We've been at this for so long already. I'm sorry."

The other boy shook his head. "No worries, man. I'm always here to help my bestie in his time of need. But..." he trailed off, reaching his arms up and behind him in a stretching motion, "we _have_ been working hard. I say we deserve a break."

Apollo gave him a knowing look. "Oh? And what exactly did you have in mind?"

Clay shrugged his shoulders. "Dunno. I do think we could use some fresh air, though..."

He laughed as Apollo pointed a finger at him. "Don't give me that! Don't think I didn't see you sneaking glances out the window." He crossed his arms and sighed. "You're hopelessly in love."

Clay ran a hand through his messy dark hair. "You got me there..." he winked. "My mistresses... every single star in the sky."

The shorter boy rolled his eyes, but Clay knew he would be getting his way tonight. "Uh-huh. But I guess I _could_ use a break." He smiled.

His expression was reflected right back at him in Clay's face. "Then let's go!"

It wasn't a terribly long bike ride to the outskirts of the Cosmos Space Center from Clay's house. Twenty minutes later they were sitting on the grassy hill outside the main building, gazing up at the seemingly infinite expanse of stars twinkling in the night sky before them.

Apollo liked the stars. There was something scary and yet comforting about laying back and losing yourself in the sea of lights above you, and Clay had only helped to foster that fondness of the night sky in him. But Clay did not just like the stars; he _lived_ for them. Even aside from his dream of becoming an astronaut, he really and truly revered space. Seeing his face light up when he talked about astronomy and different planets and celestial beings was a sight to behold—Apollo swore up and down that he had seen stars in his friend's eyes on more than a few occasions.

"Orion's nice and clear tonight, huh?" Clay said from somewhere beside him. Apollo blinked and looked down from where he'd lost himself in thought and saw his friend on his back, arms behind his head. Clay shot him a smile.

So Apollo lowered himself down onto the grass to match him, carefully as he still wore his school uniform. "Yeah. All the stars seem a litte brighter tonight than usual."

"They're wishing you good luck on the test tomorrow!" Clay teased, and Apollo stuck an arm out to playfully nudge his friend. "Man. Midterms. We're already halfway through the year, Apollo."

"Yeah..." It was true; their last year of high school had flown by in a flash. "This time next year I'll be knee-deep in my law studies and you'll be halfway done with your degree already!" By all accounts he should have been happy. They were finally on their way to achieving their dreams!

But Apollo was overcome with a cold sense of dread. They'd both understandably become very busy, no longer bound together by a common school or classes. The last thing he wanted was for these star-gazing excursions of theirs to end, for them to become distant. For all the thinking he had done on the matter, it seemed inevitable; Clay was shooting for the stars, and Apollo knew by heart just how far away they were.

He hadn't noticed Clay upright and staring at him until the boy tutted. "You've got a scary look on your face again. What are you thinking about?"

Face tinting red with embarrassment, Apollo straightened out his expression as best he could and turned his attention back up to the sky. "Nothing! Nothing, really..." He knew that that wouldn't suffice as an explanation, though, and began to fidget. "I just... I'll miss this."

Clay looked slightly confused. "Miss what? Being in high school?"

"No. Well... maybe, I guess. But I was talking about... this." His right hand found its way to his hair and he began to stroke his spikes absentmindedly. "Sitting here, looking up at the stars." _With you_ , he thought, but figured it went without saying. "You got me hooked."

Clay's serious face contorted after that last statement and he laughed. "I'd apologize but I'm not sorry," he chuckled, letting his gaze wander upwards. "Still, what makes you think this has to end? Think I'll get so sick of the stars interning at the Space Center that I won't want to spend my free time stargazing anymore?"

Apollo laughed in return. "You're right. I forgot who I was talking to."

"Seriously!" Clay lowered himself back down into a laying position, this time on his side to face Apollo squarely. "If you're still up for it, I'll still be up for it. Always."

His gaze was intense, but Apollo managed to meet it. "Thanks, Clay." He hoped his smile wasn't too goofy. "I wouldn't make any promises with the word 'always' in them unless you're ready to commit, though."

"You could ask me to sneak away with you every single day to look at the stars and I'd be delighted every time," Clay shot back, and Apollo was quick to note the lack of pressure on his left wrist. His love of the stars was borderline worrying.

As they both settled into a comfortable silence, Apollo realized that this would be what he'd miss the most. Somehow or another they always ended up getting sentimental under the twinkling sky—perhaps stemming from the circumstances of their very first night spent stargazing all those years ago. Clay always seemed to be able to assuage his uncertainty with a few words and a charismatic smile, something Apollo tried his hardest to emulate and reciprocate.

"You're just like them," he murmured aloud, hardly thinking about it.

Clay tilted his head a bit. "Just like what?"

Horror struck Apollo as he realized he'd said it instead of thinking it. Doing his best to remain composed, he decided to just come out with it, embarrassing as it might have been. "Y-You know! Like... the stars," he clarified. "You're big and bright and beau- prett- _mesmerizing_ , a-and... you're always there." _For me._

Clay's eyebrows shot up a fair few degrees. "Y-... you really think so?" Clearly flustered, he tilted his head away and brought a hand up to scratch his face a bit. "Holy shit. That's... the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

Apollo's face burned with embarrassment, but he had to drive his point home. "Of course I do!" Whoops. Inadvertent Chords of Steel. "And it's true. As far as I'm concerned, you _are_ a star."

He hadn't meant for it to sound quite so much like something an elementary school teacher would say to their student, but Clay looked touched anyway. He smiled a goofy, lopsided smile that Apollo knew was genuine. "Thank you, Apollo. That means a lot."

Satisfied, Apollo grinned right back and looked back up towards the sky. He supposed he could indulge the butterflies in his stomach just this once.

A few minutes passed. They were more than content simply laying there in the cool night breeze, but suddenly Apollo remembered his prior engagement. "Ack! Clay!" He sat up at an alarming speed. "Homework! We still have homework!"

" _You_ still have homework," Clay was quick to correct him, though he followed Apollo's lead and sat up from where he lay.

"Please don't rub it in. I'd like to actually get some sleep tonight, so let's go."

As they biked back to Clay's place, Apollo made a wish.

 _Let this last forever._


	2. home doesn't feel like home—

Apollo pressed the base of his palms to his eyes, exhaling slowly.

It had been so busy. A crowd of buzzing, excited students had stood waiting for well over an hour while the ceremony staff worked to fix technical issues, go over the general procedure once more, and make sure everyone was in proper position. Then the proceedings had gone magnificently slowly, almost thirty minutes longer than their rehearsal had been. With the excitable atmosphere Apollo should have been flourishing, but it was all he could do to concentrate on not stepping on anyone's toes or tripping over himself on his way across the stage to grabbing his diploma case. He had never done well in crowds.

But here he was, case and manilla envelope in hand, following the crowd out of the facility. Graduation was over and he was an honest-to-goodness high school alum. It was a big step; now he could finally immerse himself in his law studies, unburdened by the lack of a high school diploma and inappropriate age. The giddiness he should have felt before during the ceremony was beginning to coalesce inside him.

Having been separated by surname, Apollo attempted to scan the crowd for his ride home. Easier said than done—at five-foot four (discounting his gelled spikes, of course) he had to practically jump up into the air to be able to see over heads, and the split second glances weren't gleaning very much information on Clay's possible whereabouts.

After a few minutes of effort he felt a hand on his shoulder, suppressing another minute hop. Apollo swiveled to see a bandaged nose and a great big smile looking down at him. "Looking for someone?" he asked, tone just as enthused and playful as his face let on.

The smaller boy found himself grinning right back. "Yeah. He's a high school graduate, actually. You seen him?"

Clay pretended to be hurt as he swiped at him with a free hand. "Jerk! Don't act like you didn't see my swagger as I walked across the stage." He gestured down at his gown. "And the get-up. C'mon."

Apollo laughed, deciding to keep walking after the fifth person to bump unabashedly into him. "I was expecting a wise-crack about me having been a middle school grad, but I'm glad you didn't go for the low-hanging fruit."

"I wouldn't say that!" A nascent pause. "It's an insult to middle schoolers."

Clay was lucky that they had caught sight of his father at that point. Apollo let him off with a firm punch to the arm as they made their way towards him.

He looked tired. Clay's dad always looked tired, but he was grinning ear to ear at them, giving them each a big hug. He was just a bit taller than his son was, and Apollo figured Clay would soon match his five-foot eight-inch stature. "My boys!" he cried, and the sheer pride in his voice was enough to make even Apollo flush. "How does it feel? You're finally done!"

"Not done, dad!" Clay pumped a fist in the air. "We're just getting started! Now it's serious time."

He laughed. "I suppose that's true."

"It's good, though," Apollo added. It was just beginning to dawn on him that his life as he knew it was about to end. He was done with compulsory education. He was about to turn eighteen and drop out of the foster program and into a place of his own with the stockpiled cash from his part-time job. He was going to resend his internship applications to the law firms he'd initially been rejected by on account of age. He was going to be making his dreams happen. He smiled. "It feels good."

Both Terrans regarded him thoughtfully, almost taken aback, but Clay's dad responded with a warm smile that Apollo was sure could only come from a father. It made him happy—it was something he hadn't really had in a long time.

Dinner that night was, by Terran household standards, a feast. Clay's father had left a store-bought chicken to cook while they were out, and when they stepped over the threshold of the house they were enveloped in a mouthwatering aroma. After heating up cans of corn and green beans and toasting some bread rolls, they were digging into what was the most extravagant meal Apollo had had in ages.

His usual offer of helping to wash the dishes shot down, Apollo was dragged to Clay's room, presumably so they could gawk a bit more at their diplomas.

"This certifies that Clay Terran," he puffed his chest for effect, "has satisfactorily completed the course studies prescribed by the Board of Education and is entitled to this _diploma_ ," he finished with a flourish, laughing and holding above his head. "Damn right I have."

Apollo watched him with a smile. It was a big occasion, to be sure, but Clay was positively enamored with his shiny new certificate. "Don't let it get to your head now."

The taller boy frowned at him from where he lay on his bed. "What's with the Debbie downer attitude? You should be more excited about this," he scolded. "This is the beginning of the rest of our lives!"

He was right; Apollo knew that. But it was hard to be so excited in the moment—everything still felt the same. They were still sitting in Clay's room together just like they always had. "You're right," he conceded, tugging at the tie still tight around his neck. "Everything's gonna change from here on out."

He hadn't meant anything particular by it, but Clay sat up and gave him a disapproving look in response. Apollo winced; sometimes he wondered if Clay had a sixth sense like he did. "Are you still worked up about that?" he asked, concern betraying his grouchy exterior. "I mean... you're. You're not _wrong_ , but..." He balled up his fists and brought them down on his thighs. "Things are gonna change, but it's gonna be _awesome_. Me, working on becoming an astronaut. You, studying to become a lawyer. Us? Still best buds. Still hanging out in our free time. Which might leave something to be desired but god damn it we're going to be _fine!_ "

The shorter boy couldn't help but crack a smile at that last part. He knew Clay was right, again. But the thought of getting less time to spend with Clay—going weeks at a time without seeing him—bothered him more than it probably should have. He couldn't very well say that out loud for fear of giving him the wrong idea. Or the right idea, which was also wrong. He mirrored Clay's actions. "We'll be fine!"

Clay's dad was a saint for putting up with their yelling, Apollo would always think. They chanted their fines back and forth for a minute or two before quieting back down. Apollo found himself lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling fan absently. "I don't want to go home."

"Then don't," was Clay's answer, as if he had expected it.

It wasn't as if it was a foreign concept; Apollo often found himself spending nights at Clay's house despite himself. His own home wasn't really a home, instead more like a house of strangers that he seldom spoke to or interacted with aside from the basic minimum. He appreciated them for what it was worth; his foster family was civil enough and left him to his own devices and took care of him when he needed it. There was a mother and a father and three children but it managed to feel far less lively than Clay's small house he shared with just his father and no one else. It felt a lot like it had back in—

Apollo's eyes shot open. It had been a long time since he had thought about those days from his early childhood back in Khura'in. His position now was similar; instead of Nahyuta and Dhurke, it was Clay and his dad. He absently thought about letting Dhurke know he'd graduated. Impossible as it was without a means of contact in almost eight years, he'd have liked to tell him. _Just so you know._

Standing up from where he lay previously, Apollo made his way over to Clay's bed and sat himself down. Clay, having appeared to have dozed off a bit in the mean time, shot him a rather surprised look. "Roll over," Apollo said.

The dark-haired boy obeyed before asking questions. "Isn't it a little early to turn in?" he asked, but if Apollo had heard him he made no effort to show as such, sliding in next to him. Clay's bed was rather big for a single person, so it wasn't an excessively tight fit. "We're also still dressed up."

"Too tired to care," Apollo retorted. He was also too tired to find it in himself to hesitate, to shy away from bumping up against Clay's arm with his own. Today was a special day; he could let his guard down just a bit, for a little while.

Clay scoffed at him. "Grossly unprofessional," he muttered, climbing under the covers himself despite the disgust in his voice.

"I can't think of anything more professional than wearing slacks to bed." Apollo wanted to curl up—preferably against Clay's back—but decided against it, instead lying on his back with his hands on his stomach. He felt Clay shift into a similar position.

"That's because you're half-asleep," Clay reasoned, and Apollo resisted the urge to point out how wrong he was on that front. Apollo was tired, yes, but it would take quite a while for him to relax with Clay in such close proximity. With just a few degrees' worth of turning he could potentially hold him in his arms, potentially tangle their legs together, potentially bury his face in mussed black hair. That was entirely too much power to be entrusted with, but here they were.

Apollo had half a mind to _change_ his mind, to get up and say his goodbyes, but after Clay reached an arm behind him to switch off the lamp illuminating the room he couldn't bring himself to follow through. Instead opting to make himself as comfortable as possible, Apollo tilted his head a bit to glance at Clay. "Hey."

Clay hardly moved in response. "Hm?"

"Congrats."

The smile Clay shot him was radiant, even in the darkness. "Congrats."


	3. housewarming gift and stray thoughts

Apollo watched as Clay upended a third bottle of water, absently swirling what was left of his own as he sat.

The apartment Apollo had found was small; there was a kitchenette with a tiny room for the washing machine that the to-be attorney couldn't afford, a similarly small living room, and a little bedroom with a bathroom. The doors all stuck, the walls were thin, the floor creaked, sections of the carpet were stained and he was on the second floor, but it was cheap and in a semi-convenient location and that was all that mattered to him.

Having enlisted the help of Terrans senior and junior (and their truck), they had moved in just about everything Apollo had brought in little more than half an hour. Apart from clothes and a few miscellaneous knickknacks, the only things Apollo had needed help with were an old couch with a pull-out bed and a large desk, both of which were items his foster family had insisted they had no further use for.

With the desk sitting alone in the bedroom and the couch fit snugly on the wall perpendicular to the front door of the flat, they all flopped down onto the plush material with a loud squeak. The late July heat had ensured they sweat thoroughly despite the easy job.

"'Course you had to choose the hottest day of the summer to move," Clay whined when he brought his empty bottle back down to his lap, half-glaring at his friend.

Apollo removed his gaze from Clay's neck, his Adam's apple now stationary. "Hottest day _yet_ , you mean. Summer is far from over." He shifted his gaze down. "Still. Thanks for helping out. My bike can only hold so much."

Clay shrugged his shoulders. "I'm always up for a good workout. This sweat? All for you, bud."

Apollo grimaced, ignoring the sheen that highlighted his friend's musculature in the hard light of his apartment. "Thank you so much."

Clay's dad leaned forward from where he sat beside Apollo, aiming to get up. "I think we left one last thing in the truck. I'll go and get it."

The shorter boy looked up at him, confused. "Are you sure? I'm almost positive we already got everything..."

Clay shifted beside him. "Oh, good thinking, dad!"

Brown eyes swiveled to land on Clay's face. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing." When Apollo's hand rubbed at the skin beneath his bracelet accusingly, Clay sighed. "Okay, okay... it's something. You'll see."

"But _what is it?_ Please don't tell me you got something." Apollo rubbed his face. "I told you guys not to get me anything. I don't need—"

"Apollo! Chill!" Clay clapped a hand onto his shoulder. "Sure, you may have told us not to under any circumstances get you anything at all or else. But you should know that us Terrans can be a little hard of hearing." He laughed at Apollo's horrified death-glare. "We wanted to do something, okay? So stop complaining. You'll get wrinkles."

A finger went to massage between his eyebrows as Apollo forced his expression neutral. He muttered something defiantly but chose not to harp on any further.

Clay's dad returned with the alleged box of junk that Apollo had noticed earlier, a smile on his face. Apollo's stomach was twisting itself into knots as he forced a smile in return. He appreciated the gesture, of course, but he truly hated feeling like he owed anyone anything, and accepting gifts was no different. He prayed it wasn't anything costly. A hand-me-down of some sort, maybe.

The older man put the box down on the floor and Clay hopped down from his spot on the couch. "C'mon, Apollo, let's open it up!" He begrudgingly complied.

A pocketknife in hand, the younger Terran sliced through the haphazard tape keeping the box closed and flipped the flaps open nonchalantly, sneaking expectant glances at Apollo all the while.

What lay inside were a bunch of parts, but even in its unfinished state Apollo could see it was a chair—one meant for an office desk. His eyes widened. "Oh my god," he said.

Clay grinned. "I'll admit, it was a risky guess, but I had a feeling the folks would give you the desk. You practically lived at that thing, after all. And I know you're only gonna spend more time at it now with all your lawyer work and stuff, and I figured you might cheap out and get a crappy chair, so... actually, this one isn't the most expensive chair either—IKEA, I'm sure you recognize it—but listen, I sat on one of these myself and it's really comfy." He took a breath. "Anyway, I hope you like it because I took it out of the original box like a week ago and I _might_ have lost the receipt."

Apollo's face broke into a genuine smile as he looked up at Clay and his father. "I love it. Thank you both so much!"

Clay's dad held his hands up in the air. "Don't look at me, kiddo. It was all Clay's idea. He even paid for the majority of it."

He rolled his eyes where he sat. "And I would have paid for _all_ of it, too. I'm still on track to get my car," he huffed. "Just a couple more months. But anyway—let's put this baby together!"

Luckily Clay had not managed to misplace the instructions. With the tools Clay's dad had also brought into the apartment they got to work, and between the three of them it only took about twenty minutes of fiddling to get the chair fixed up. It was all black, with the back, seat and arms of the chair lined with pleather. After rolling it into his bedroom and sitting on it himself, he had to agree with Clay—it was quite comfy.

Apollo struck a pose where he sat, swiveling halfway towards his guests and leaning back into the chair lazily, hands hanging off the armrests. "What do you think? Does it suit me?"

Clay had a finger rubbing his chin. "Almost. All you need now is a nice suit. And like... a fountain pen. Then I think I'd buy it."

Looking down at his casual wear—old jeans and a big red hoodie thrown on top of a plain white shirt—Apollo was inclined to agree. He got up. "Soon."

On their way back to Clay's house to pick up his bike, Apollo's stomach growled. "Alright. What am I treating you guys to? Pizza? Burgers?"

Clay made his fist pump obvious from where he sat in the passenger seat. "You know I'm always down for pizza, dude."

"It's my healthy day," Clay's dad interjected. "No pizza for this old man. Just a salad."

"Aw, whatever, dad." Clay turned to glance at Apollo. "Just you and me, then. But you know we gotta eat at your place, right? Break it in a little bit."

"I guess so." Apollo paused. "I have to get stuff, too. Like drinks. And groceries. And bathroom supplies... I ran out of hair gel this morning."

"The joys of being an adult."

"There's a Chinese place right next to the dollar store."

"Shit, I'm in."

After dropping Clay's dad off at home and throwing Apollo's bike in the bed of the truck—"I'm not biking in this heat and neither are you."—they set out, Apollo gathering his supplies while Clay ordered their food.

"I have a feeling this is going to be a regular thing," Clay admonished from his side of the couch, blowing on his chicken. "Please don't live on chinese food, Apollo."

The boy opposite him rolled his eyes, in the middle of slurping up his chow mein. "Are you kidding? That's a waste of money." He readied another bite. "I'll be living on seventy cent ramen and dollar store canned chicken, thanks."

Clay eyed the bag of ramen noodles sitting in the kitchen and knew that Apollo was only half-joking. "Don't live on ramen noodles, either. A balanced diet goes a long way." He took a bite of his own food. "Although you could use a little more skin on those bones. Less greens, more donuts?"

"Ha ha," Apollo grunted, pulling his legs up further. Truth be told, Apollo didn't eat a whole lot to begin with. He liked food as much as the next guy, but it wasn't exactly a priority to eat three square meals a day. It was an easy way to save money, too. The only downside—being even scrawnier than he was to begin with on account of his build. He tucked himself in behind his thighs, the box of noodles in his lap warm and pleasant. "Doubtful, but we'll see."

Clay laughed. "Just joking, of course. Not everyone can be as swole as yours truly." He flexed an arm for good measure.

Apollo allowed himself a courtesy glance. The sleeveless shirt he donned left nothing to the imagination; he could see every muscle in his arm shift. He wasn't even formally in the astronaut program yet, but he had been working out ever since he learned how fit they needed to be for space travel some years ago. It had paid off—Clay looked downright manly.

He caught himself staring for longer than was socially acceptable and blinked, taking another bite of his chow mein. "True. You were blessed."

"You kidding? I worked hard for these!" The next piece of chicken he threw into his mouth was a bit forceful. "Whatever. Be jelly if you like."

They ate the rest of their food in silence. True to form, Apollo decided to save some of his noodles for later. Clay downed the rest of his chicken easily.

"Seriously, though." Apollo rose to meet Clay as he put his shoes back on. "Thank you for the chair. It was thoughtful."

He winked down at him through shaggy black hair. "No prob. Think of it as a late birthday present. Make good use of it, okay?"

Apollo thought about the work he had to get done for class on Tuesday and groaned. "Trust me, I will."

They said their goodbyes and Apollo found himself alone for the first time in his new place. Trying to ignore how dreary and empty it looked, he took to setting everything he'd bought for his bathroom up—hanging the shower curtains, setting the bowl brush down beside the toilet, folding the new towels and putting them away. Once it resembled a room he'd have no qualms about taking a shower in he nodded, satisfied for the time being.

Sitting back down on his couch, he took it all in. It was just him here; no foster siblings, no fellow orphans, no one else. No more worrying about someone coming into his room unannounced or touching his stuff without permission. It was old and small and smelled kind of funny but it was his. He smiled a little to himself.

Of course, he wouldn't have minded a roommate. He'd have been lying if he said he hadn't thought about asking Clay to room with him. But it didn't make sense—Clay had his dad's house, after all, and it was far closer to the space center than any of the apartments Apollo could hope to afford.

Still, the thought of Clay standing in his kitchen, making eggs and shooting the breeze with him was a pleasant one. As was the thought of him curled up lazily on his couch, reading the day's headlines aloud to him and paying special attention to any aerospace news that happened across his feed.

Apollo's toes curled. This was a dangerous train of thought. _Better pull the emergency brakes now._

In a moment of weakness, he decided not to, and the image of them sharing the uncomfortably small pull-out bed popped into his head. Apollo's face buried snugly in a mess of dark hair, Clay's toned arms encircling his torso easily, a couple of groggy "good morning"s and—

Faceplanting on the cushions, Apollo exhaled. That was enough of that.


	4. after hours at the space center

It had been some time since Apollo had last set foot inside the Cosmos Space Center.

To say that the majority of his junior high years had been spent there wouldn't have been far from the truth. One of the first things Clay had decided to do with his newfound friend was share with him the place that made him happiest–and that was the space center. Eventually they made themselves so well-known amongst the staff that they somehow became good friends with a lot of them, the soon-to-be-famed astronaut Solomon Starbuck taking a special interest in the two boys who seemed to loiter about each week without fail.

Things had never been quite the same since the incident that happened in their first year of high school. The resident doctor of psychology Metis Cykes had been murdered by her own disciple and the event had thrown everyone for a loop–Aura Blackquill became aloof and distant, Director Cosmos became thoroughly absorbed in his work and Mr. Starbuck focused his efforts on making that HAT-1 mission a resounding success. None of them had any time for starry-eyed kids anymore.

Their trips to the center becoming less frequent, Clay immersed himself in his own work, determined to waste no time in following his studies to become an astronaut. It was tough; their little circle had become something of a make-shift family over the years, and it hurt Apollo to watch it all come undone so easily.

It had been several months since his last time stepping through the big glass doors, and even then it had been a brief, cordial visit. Normally he didn't venture in alone, either, but today was a special day—Clay was now officially working for GYAXA as Mr. Starbuck's protégé.

The sanitized smell hit Apollo's nose immediately, and he fought the urge to crinkle his nose up. It was strong, but it was a comforting scent; one that reminded him of those days spent wandering around in awe.

He was greeted by a familiar little robot, the LCD screen on its head lighting up with a bright smile. "Good afternoon, Mr. Apollo Justice! How can I help you today?"

Apollo smiled right back, his reflection visible in the dark blue portions of the robot's display. "Hi, Ponco. I'm here to see Clay."

It was a few seconds before Ponco responded, checking her internal database for relevant information. "Mr. Clay Terran… He is up on the fourth floor! I can take you to him!" She beeped happily. "Please follow me!"

He didn't actually need Ponco's assistance to get around the center but humored her anyway–it was her purpose, after all. He saw some familiar faces as they made their way to the elevator shaft, of people he'd always seen around and seldom spoken to. It almost felt like hardly any time had passed at all.

As if on cue as he exited the elevator, he caught glimpse of a dark figure headed his way at an impressive speed. He didn't need Ponco's robotic, "Oh, Mr. Clay Terran!" to figure out who it was; he simply grinned and held his arms outwards in anticipation.

Clay practically jumped at him, wrapping thick arms around him easily. The force sent them both stumbling backwards, though Apollo managed to steady them before they could tip over. "Apollo! You made it!"

Apollo found his hands on Clay's back, clapping heartily. "I wouldn't miss it," he assured. They broke away from each other after a few seconds and Clay looked ecstatic, eyes wrinkling pleasantly at the sheer force of his smile. "How was the first day?"

The taller man just closed his eyes and shook his head. "Crazy, dude. Not like something major happened or anything but… holy shit, you know? I'm working at the space center!" He was putting a lot of effort into not flailing his arms around. "It seems so silly, 'cause I already know this place so well, but it really is different actually having a job to do." He paused, taking the time to stand tall and place his hands on his hips. "By the way, what do you think of the uniform? Does it suit me?"

Apollo took the opportunity to step back and give his friend a once-over. He was wearing the same uniform all the employees wore—the thick navy blue jacket being the most stand-out article. It was adorned with white, on the edges and a few stripes near the stomach, and fit Clay's frame snugly. It was the same jacket they had always admired back when they were kids, and Apollo could imagine how giddy Clay was to finally be wearing one of his own. He nodded his head approvingly. "It suits you," he affirmed, and he meant it; it was natural, like Clay had always been destined to wear this jacket.

Clay beamed at him. "I think so too!"

"Wanna know what I think?" A deep voice resounded from somewhere behind Clay. It was familiar enough that Apollo didn't stiffen up at the reprimanding tone. "I think you left me clear in the dust back there. Trying to lose me on your first day?"

Apollo could recognize the shaggy red top of Solomon Starbuck's hair anywhere. He gave Clay a stern look, but they both knew he wasn't completely serious. His gaze was friendlier as he turned it toward Apollo. "Heya, Apollo. Long time, no see."

Apollo grinned. "Hey, Mr. Starbuck. Clay was just telling me about how the day went. You'll be honest with me though—he was awful, right?"

Starbuck nodded sagely. "Absolute rubbish. I'll have to fire him."

Clay looked vaguely offended. "You guys aren't funny," he cried, his smile betraying him.

Though Starbuck was ten years their senior, they talked like friends. Now that they were adults there was no reason not to, Apollo mused. He took notice of the subtle differences between Clay's jacket and Starbuck's—a few miscellaneous patches were missing from the former's, including the one that denoted a fully-fledged astronaut. Soon.

"So!" Clay rubbed his hands together as they strode down the hallway. "What are we doing to celebrate?"

Starbuck raised an eyebrow. "Celebrate what?"

Apollo chuckled at Clay's frown. "My first official day at GYAXA, of course!" he huffed. "Plus my birthday's in like a week. Fine by me if we do a little two-for-one thing."

"So wait for your birthday, then."

"We can't!" Clay took the opportunity to hook an arm around Apollo. "I already asked Apollo to come today. We can't just do nothing after he took time out of his day and came all the way out here to see us," he reasoned.

Two sets of eyes squinted at Clay now. "…that's why you asked me to come out here, huh?" Apollo realized, voice hurt.

"No, no nono," Clay defended, tightening his grip on Apollo. "I asked you to come out here because I wanted to see you. And because I wanted you to see me and be a weird mix of proud and jelly." A brief pause, the slightest tink of a fingernail scraping against a metal bracelet. "Andbecause I might have wanted some free food. Sue me!"

They were interrupted before he could retort. "What's with all this racket? Some of us are trying to work."

They all turned to see Aura Blackquill poking her head out of a door, glaring at them. They must have wandered to the Robotics Lab without noticing. Her expression softened a bit when she saw Clay and Apollo.

Clay was the first of them to respond. "But it's already five, Aura! Off hours."

She stood up straight, letting the door slide fully open. "For fledgeling astronauts without passion, perhaps," she conceded. "I, however, operate on something far greater than a stagnant nine-to-five schedule."

"By which she means she's a workaholic," Starbuck muttered flatly.

"Call me what you will," she replied cooly. She gave Clay a passing glance as she retreated back into the lab. "Congrats on getting hired, by the way."

Clay's face lit up. "Thanks, Aura!"

Apollo wondered if that was the end of it, but if Aura had truly wished to be done with them she'd have closed the door behind her. They took to following her inside.

The lab was in disarray. Parts were strewn about haphazardly across tables and floors, and half-finished projects lined the walls rather forlornly. Aura had taken to a robot that sat on an operating chair, roughly replacing parts by hand rather than using the large machine looming overhead.

With Clay and Mr. Starbuck caught up in conversation behind him, Apollo crept nearer to the older woman. He had never really known how to approach Aura, but it seemed she would save him the trouble. "You came for his first day, huh? Awfully supportive of you."

Apollo scratched the back of his neck. "'s just what any friend would do, I guess."

Aura regarded him thoughtfully. "I suppose so."

His eyebrows came together. Ever since the UR-1 incident, Apollo hadn't really been able to get a read on Aura. Not that she hadn't been cryptic and dripping with sarcasm beforehand, but certainly not to such an extent. Apollo had even considered her a role model of sorts; her relationship with Metis had done a lot to help him come to terms with his own sexuality, though he would never admit that. He was worried about her, truth be told. But maybe this was just how she was going to be in a post-Metis world.

"Scary," she said absently, having gone back to her work. Apollo flushed and forced his face back into non-scowling territory. "So how have you been? Law studies going well?"

The brunette blinked. She had never been one for pleasantries, but he appreciated the gesture. "Yeah," he nodded. "I'm getting to the good classes now. Stuff like Intro to Income Taxes and Advanced Legal Research."

She snorted, apparently enjoying his dry tone. "I see," she said, screwing a bolt back into place. "And how is Terran?"

Apollo started. "W-Well, he's doing fine. He just got his dream job, you know?"

Aura gave him a look. "Come now. You know what I mean." When Apollo failed to respond, she gestured with her free hand. "How are you _two_ doing?"

He hadn't been sure it was possible to choke on one's own spit at a standstill until he managed to do it upon hearing her suggestive connotations. Trying to cough discreetly, he chanced a glance behind him. Starbuck and Clay remained on the other side of the lab, poking at one of Aura's works in progress. "I-I'm not sure what you mean?"

The woman looked genuinely shocked. "What, you mean he still doesn't know?"

Apollo was practically sweating bullets now. "Know what?"

"About your gigantic crush on h—"

" _Please keep your voice down._ "

Having been cut short by a furtive whisper, Aura decided to take pity on the chalk white face in front of her. "…I see. You have quite the resolve, don't you?"

Apollo took to rubbing his temples. "I don't… what even made you come to that conclusion, anyway?"

It was rare for Aura to smile these days. "It's in the way you look at him, Justice. Like he's the only one in the room."

He clapped a hand over his mouth, horrified. "I do _not_ … do I?"

She nodded. "You definitely do. You always have. Then again, I may have a heightened awareness for this kind of thing." She wiped her hands on her uniform. "Did you ever plan on saying anything? Terran seems to be quite obtuse when it comes to such things."

Apollo played with a frayed edge of his hoodie. It wasn't as if he had never thought about it… far from it, really. "I… don't know," he admitted. "We're both so busy now. It's not really a good time."

She had seemed amused before, but now her countenance was serious. Aura leaned over the robot in front of her to properly address him. "You're afraid. I understand. But believe me when I say that if you don't say something while you can, you will regret it. For a long time."

He flinched backwards at the sharp edge of her words. She was right. He knew she was right, and yet—

"Whatcha guys talkin' about?"

Apollo found himself flinching forwards just as fast. Clay was right behind him, inspecting Aura's handiwork. He could only assume Starbuck was nearby as well. Frantically he worked to keep his face in check, neurons firing at overclocked speeds trying to come up with a believable topic of conversation.

"The laws which robots abide by." Aura sounded disinterested. "That is to say, something you would have a hard time grasping."

Clay made an indignant noise as Apollo silently sighed in relief. "Try me, Aura. I'm not all brawn, I'll have you know."

Her eyes closed in irritation. "I've wasted enough time as it is. Out of my lab, all of you."

Apollo was more than happy to comply, straightening up from where he had hunched over her workspace. Clay tutted at him. "Geez, Apollo, you must have worked her up into an even worse mood than normal."

"Try not to piss off your fellow coworkers for starters, Terran."

"Okay, okay, we're leaving," Starbuck sighed, clearly not keen on listening to any more bickering. "And I guess I'm paying," he grumbled.

"Aw yes!" Clay gave Apollo a nudge. "I convinced him to buy us dinner. Smooth, I know."

As they shuffled out of the lab, Apollo glanced back behind him. "It was nice to see you again, Aura," he offered, addressing her on a first-name basis because she was definitely _not_ old enough to be called _ma'am_ and he had learned that the hard way some time ago. He hoped she would recognize it for what it was—thanks for the impromptu advice, as much as he was loathe to have been seen through.

"Likewise, Justice." Looked like she had. "Next time I see you I hope to be impressed with your progress."

He felt his face heat up in spite of himself as the lab door slid shut behind them.

"Don't listen to her, Apollo," Clay waved a hand in the air. "You're doing great. You're on track to have your badge before you're twenty-two! It's not physically possible to do much better than that."

Apollo was grateful he seemed to have assumed what they'd been discussing. "Thanks, Clay."

Mortified as he was to have his tightly-guarded secret found out by someone he saw maybe four times a year at best, he found himself also feeling a little relieved, like part of the burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He'd even been _encouraged_ —by Aura Blackquill, who rarely said anything nice to anyone nowadays. He thought, for a fleeting moment, that maybe he really could tell Clay.

"So," Apollo licked his dry lips during a lull in their lax conversation, "what's for dinner?"


	5. on the concept of being professional

"This'll probably be the most money you've spent, like, ever."

Clay's voice was a fair distance from him, admiring a pair of black slacks that seemed to be part of a particular designer's fashion line. They currently stood surrounded by hangers and mannequins, having come to the mens' dress store for one reason: Apollo finally needed a suit.

Said man was not doing so well; he had set aside money for this expense, of course, but he was doing his best to keep the bill modest. He currently considered a plain grey outfit with all the necessities—waistcoat, jacket, even a matching tie. He balked at the price tag. "The way it's looking? Yeah, you're probably right."

It was frustrating; all the suits he thought to be nice were far too pricey for his liking, and all the suits he'd be halfway comfortable purchasing did nothing for him. Apollo dropped the tag and sighed, ready to do more searching.

Clay wandered back over to him. "No need to sound so out of it! We've only been at this for twenty minutes. It's is a big decision." He glanced around. "Haven't you even thought about what you want?"

"Something cheap," Apollo grunted, crossing his arms. His frugality wasn't quite enough for him to stoop to the clearance level, though. He figured that as one of the components of his professional appearance, his suit was justifiably semi-exempt from the rule. "Not dirt cheap. But something I-can-buy-and-not-live-off-ramen-for-a-month cheap."

"Uh-huh." Clay was examining something off to the left of him. "Well… I was thinking more about color and stuff. Black and grey are boring. What about something… blue?" He gave Apollo a cheeky grin. "Maybe it'll help you channel your inner Phoenix Wright."

Apollo flushed a shade of red that rivaled the hue of his hoodie and didn't hesitate to shove his friend. "Come _on_ , Clay," he half-growled, half-whined. It was true that Apollo had been inspired by the legendary defense attorney back in junior high, but it was a bit tougher to take the teasing in stride after his idol's disbarment some years ago. "Wright is Wright. I'm going to be myself."

Clay hummed, nodding his head. "You're right. We need something that says, 'Watch out, world! I'm Apollo Justice and not only am I fine, I'm gonna be the best lawyer in the States—no, in the world!'"

Apollo's groans drowned out Clay's infectious laughter.

"I really do think you'd look nice in blue," he admitted after they settled into silence. "I bet the color'd calm your clients down too."

The brunette was considering a few suits lined up for display near the back of the store, using the opportunity to hide his blush at the sentiment. "Well, thanks. But I don't know." He glanced back at the other man, who donned a navy crewneck. "Blue is your color, not mine."

His friend laughed. "I wasn't aware you could own colors! But okay, okay. No blue. What about…" Apollo shifted under Clay's scrutinous gaze. Suddenly he snapped his fingers. "Oh, duh!"

"What?" It had sounded like a revelation.

"Red! That's your color, you wear it all the time!"

"Red?" he echoed, nose wrinkling. "I mean, I do like red, but… isn't that a little… loud?" He couldn't recall seeing anyone in a red suit before, save for stage performers. "And it seems more like a prosecutor's color."

"I think it'd be fitting." Apollo's eyebrows twitched. He was making fun of his Chords of Steel. "Plus, it's the color of victory! Sure, it's kind of an offensive color, but you know that saying." Clay brought his fists up into a boxing stance. "The best defense is a good offense!"

"Defense attorneys can't exactly take the offensive, but I get what you're saying." He shuffled his feet. "I… don't know. Maybe? Are there any red suits here?"

"Only one way to find out," Clay grinned, clearly excited as he got back to scouring the aisles.

The muffled buzz in his pocket distracted him a bit from the task at hand, and he fished his phone from his pocket quizzically. He didn't have many contacts, prompting him to wonder if it was an e-mail response to one of his applications.

Flipping the small red phone open revealed a text from an unknown number. _Hello, Justice._

"Apollo, there's a nice one over here! I think—" Clay stopped himself short when he saw the shorter man's expression. "Woah, woah. What's up with that face?"

Horror was etched into his features. He knew it was a hasty reaction, but his anxious nature routinely got the better of him. Apollo had received his fair share of wrong-number texts, but this one had _his_ name in it. His mind was racing. He had given plenty of firms his cell phone number, but they almost always contacted him by e-mail instead. And they would never send a menacing, two-word text out of the blue. Running through the past month in his mind, he couldn't think of a single instance of giving his number to anyone else, so who could this have been? "Just got a… weird text."

Clay came to hover over Apollo's shoulder, reading the words for himself. "Oh! Oh, I totally forgot to tell you!"

Apollo whirled around to face him. " _What?_ " he inadvertently boomed. "You know who this is?"

He pulled his own phone out. "Yeah, it's Aura." As Apollo let that sink in, he tapped a few times and glanced back at the unsolicited text message. "Yep, that's her number. She asked me for yours the other day out of the blue and I was like, uh, sure, but why now all of a sudden? She said she wanted to discuss a project with you or something," he elaborated. "Thought I told you. My bad."

"A project…?" Apollo's gut sank. He had a feeling he knew exactly what kind of project Aura was planning. "I see." He decided to hold off on replying for the time being.

They went to examine the suit Clay had found. It was certainly red; a proud, bright shade of scarlet that faded abruptly into black near the back of the waistcoat. It was paired with a plain white dress shirt and a teal tie. Apollo found himself liking it more than he thought he would.

"It's nice, right?" Clay sounded proud of himself. "Take it from me, resident suit expert."

"In what world?" Apollo scoffed. "You've dressed up maybe twice in your entire life."

Clay furrowed his brow at him. "Now that's not true. It's been at least three times." He pulled a hand up to count on his fingers. "Mom's funeral, graduation, interview at the space center… I didn't dress up for open interviews at Mickey D's but I got the job anyway."

"Not exactly what I'd call an expert, personally."

"Just put the suit on."

Apollo did as he was told. He was happy with the fit; the whole set was comfortably snug, with the exception of the slacks being a bit loose and a couple of inches too long. The jacket was just too much red, but the waistcoat by itself was respectable, so he decided to forego it for the moment.

He stepped out of the dressing room at Clay's request and flushed at his impressed whistle. "I knew this was the one," he nodded, coming up to adjust his tie. Apollo stiffened. "The tie brings it all together, I think. You look nice, Mr. Justice."

Apollo knew that veiled somewhere within the jocular tone was a serious compliment, but it was easier to digest as a joke. "Flattery will get you nowhere. The pants are too long, anyhow," he muttered, lifting an ankle up for good measure.

"That's nothing a good tailor can't fix! I bet they'll even do it here for you."

Clay had been right; the employee they called over was happy to take his measurements for the necessary adjustments—"It's free for any purchase over $400!" Apollo fought the urge to gag—and place the order. His only comforting thought was the fact that the more he spent on quality, the less likely he was to need a new suit anytime soon. He was twenty already; he had stopped growing vertically and his income guaranteed he wouldn't grow horizontally either.

"My pockets feel about ten times lighter," the brunette chuckled mirthlessly as they exited the store, back to Clay's car. He didn't even want to look at his bank account.

"Maybe, but you're going to look ten times better." Clay dodged a predictable swipe from his shorter friend. "And you gotta think of it as an investment. You go to the interview, Mr. Gavin is impressed by your professional get-up, you're brought on, and you get better pay than you get now. The suit will pay itself off in no time!"

Apollo sighed as he pulled the passenger door open and slid inside. "Interns get next to nothing, actually. But you're right. I have to stop whining. It'll be fine."

"You'll be fine!" Clay parroted. He turned the key to start the engine, but it only stuttered in response, soliciting a groan from the man's throat. "Oh, no you don't." Another turn, another splutter. "Not again."

Apollo watched Clay with a pained smile. "This investment, on the other hand? A hunk of junk."

He pointed an indignant finger at Apollo, expression unamused. "Watch it, buddy. This here's a piece of shit, but it's _my_ piece of shit." He gave the key a final pleading twist, and the engine roared to life as if nothing had happened. He cheered. "Ahah! You see! I knew you could do it."

After Apollo was miraculously dropped safely off at his apartment, he remembered Aura's succinct text from earlier. _Should probably reply to that_ , Apollo thought to himself, though he really didn't want to.

He shrugged off his hoodie and sat down on the sofa, tapping away at the number pad. _Hi, Aura. It's considered polite to introduce yourself the first time you text someone so they know who you are._

Sitting for a good minute or so after hitting the send button, he realized she probably wouldn't be responding right away. As he went to get up, however, his phone buzzed in his hand. _Yet you knew who I was just fine._

Apollo pressed his lips into a thin line. She certainly didn't ease up of that cool, logical tone of hers, even in text form. _No thanks to you. So what's this about a project?_

It was a few minutes before her response came. _It has nothing to do with my work, if that's what you're thinking._

 _I figured as much. Does it involve Clay?_

Apollo's face was red from even acknowledging it, but he had little choice now. He would have Aura come out with whatever sort of devious plan she had concocted and promptly tell her to butt out and—

His phone was ringing now. He glanced down to see Aura's number flashing. Raising an eyebrow, he tentatively answered. "Hello? Aura?"

"Evening, Justice." She sounded a bit distant, like her phone was sitting on a desk beside her. "The texting thing wasn't working. Too inefficient."

"What?" He heard noises that sounded vaguely like scraping. "Am I on speakerphone? And are you still at the lab?"

"Very astute. Yes to both questions."

Apollo thought back to the timestamp on the last text he'd received. "Aura, it's almost seven o'clock."

"I'm well aware." A pause. "I told Clay about a project so he would give me your number. I am assuming I am the only one who knows about your situation?"

The brunette swallowed. "If you're talking about the unrequited love thing, yes."

He heard a harsh laugh on the other end. "There's no way you can know that without confronting him about it, Justice. Anyway," she grunted, a metallic scratching noise accompanying her efforts, "it's none of my business one way or the other. I simply thought to give you my number in case you needed any moral support."

Now it was Apollo who laughed. "Thank you, Aura, but I promise I'm fine." As if he would be caught dead asking anyone for love advice, much less Aura Blackquill. "I'm more concerned about you. You really have to stop working so much. It's bad for your health."

"I assure you that this _is_ how I take care of myself." The sentence caught Apollo off-guard. Sure, he had assumed Aura had buried herself in her work for so long to cope with Metis' death, but to hear it so matter-of-factly from the woman herself… "If you are fine with things as they are, I see little point in prolonging this conversation."

A hand went to scratch at the back of his neck. "Sure. And really, thank you. I'll keep in touch, okay?"

Apollo stared at his phone thoughtfully for a long time after he hung up.


	6. a mystery you might not want answered

Apollo blinked his eyes and tapped the key that lowered the brightness of his screen none too gently.

He sat in the corner of the immaculate office, in front of a desk just large enough to house the laptop and legal pad he worked from comfortably. Remembering how excited he had been to have attended the interview in this very room, he rolled his eyes before refocusing his attention on the document at hand. In truth, he was still extremely grateful to his new boss and mentor—one Mr. Kristoph Gavin—for his position here at the Gavin Law Offices despite his rookie relegations; he had only just been given the okay to manage case files after weeks of running errands. He just wished it was a bit more… stimulating.

A ways behind him his boss sat at a much bigger desk, presumably deeply engrossed in his own work. Despite how long he had been at things, his desk was still perfectly kempt save for the pen he had set down slightly to the left of its desired position parallel to the notepad in front of him. Long blonde hair curled very uniformly down into a twist laid carefully over his left shoulder, leaving the remaining hair and bangs to frame his features handsomely. It was hard to tell what he was thinking, as he only really had two faces: the one he wore now—a focused, neutral expression—and a genial smile he employed quite often.

The fledgeling lawyer pulled a bit at his collar. The new shirt he had bought was a bit itchy; he made a mental note to avoid the brand in the future. The file he was putting together was for a very tame civil trial, with the defendant fighting for ownership of specific assets; the kind of case one of Mr. Gavin's subordinates would be tackling, no doubt. _The perfect case for a beginner_ , Apollo thought wistfully, though he understood this was all Mr. Gavin's method of grooming him up to the task. He would just have to be patient.

There was a curt knock at the door, something Apollo had gotten used to expecting during his time here. If he had to guess, it was one of Mr. Gavin's clients—the other attorneys in the office made a habit of making their knocks soft and non-intrusive. When he glanced over his shoulder curiously, Mr. Gavin didn't even bother to look away from his work. "Come in," he spoke just a touch louder than he would have to Apollo, who was in the room with him. His voice was as cool and calculated as ever.

Apollo didn't make a point to assess every person that walked through his boss' door, but he couldn't help his curiosity in this case; it was unusual of Mr. Gavin to remain seated for a client rather than greet them right at the door. He watched on as the knob turned and a man stepped over the threshold, looking pretty disheveled. He wore a threadbare gray hoodie and baggy black pants, head topped unceremoniously by a large blue beanie. His sandals flopped noisily as he walked, and his stubbly facial hair was pulled up into a calm smile as he regarded Mr. Gavin. "Kristoph," he said simply, voice just a bit higher than Apollo had been expecting.

He thought he saw his boss glance over at him with a look—hard to be sure with the light glinting conveniently off of his glasses—and Apollo returned his attention to his work, face flushing a bit in shame. He hadn't meant to stare for seconds at a time at the newcomer, but he also hadn't expected anyone would walk into a law office looking like _that_. He shook his head minutely; there had to be more to the story. Mr. Gavin had a certain standard of clientele, Apollo had come to notice, and he was positive that this person must be an acquaintance to whom he owed a debt.

He could see the smile on Mr. Gavin's face in his mind. "You're late," he responded in kind, and Apollo knew he had been on the mark with at least one of his assumptions.

The man chuckled from somewhere deep in his throat. "You're right, I'm sorry." He didn't really sound apologetic at all. "Got a bit caught up on the way here." Where Apollo would normally have heard the dull scrapes of the guest chair being pulled out and sat at, he heard a shuffle of clothing. "Who do we have here?"

Apollo sat at attention, wondering if he should turn around; it wasn't unreasonable to be absently listening to the conversation, right? After a moment he decided to, thinking it would reflect poorly on his boss if he was impolite to any client—acquaintance or not—though no previous patron had ever asked about his presence before.

As he stood from his seat, Mr. Gavin pushed his glasses up to rest more comfortably on his nose. "This is Mr. Justice, my newest charge. He has proven himself to be quite resourceful and I have high hopes for him."

Cheeks threatening to burn from such blunt praise, his smile was genuine when he approached the man, hand outstretched in anticipation of the coming contact. Though he was rather distracted by the kind words—this was the first time he had heard anything more than a passing "Good work, Justice,"—his eyes definitely didn't miss the brief flicker of dark blue eyes downwards, towards the middle of his body.

Before he could think too hard on what that had been about, the man was grabbing his hand with a courteous smile, though Apollo could tell the man was mulling over something in his head. "Is that so? That's quite impressive praise coming from you, Kristoph," he mused, chuckling. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Justice. That's a fitting name, isn't it?"

Apollo forced a laugh. That certainly wasn't the first time someone had commented on his serendipitous surname. "Thank you, sir. It's nice to meet you too."

Their hands shook once, decisively; the man's grip was firm. He had to look up to meet his eyes, which now glanced more unabashedly at the same place he'd examined before. "I can't help but notice that bracelet of yours," he noted, tone curious. "Bit of a flashy way to accessorize, isn't it?"

The shorter man flinched; that was a Clay-tier observation. Unable to offer a snarky quip in return, he raised his left hand to fidget with the aforementioned accessory absently. The golden sheen certainly caught a lot of people's attention, it was true, but he liked to think it worked well with his shiny new attorney's badge. "Yes, sir," he smiled. "It's something of a family heirloom."

His boss' guest was clearly interested, eyes now alight with something akin to realization, but he was cut off by the man himself. Mr. Gavin had stood up and gathered his things while they talked. "I hate to interrupt, but at this rate it will be well into the afternoon before we return from lunch," he lectured lightly, indicating it was time for them to leave. Apollo blinked—there went the other half of his assumption.

"Of course," the man agreed, dropping the issue altogether. He pocketed his hands, offering Apollo a final glance. "Keep up the good work, kid."

He offered a small bow in response. Mr. Gavin held the door open for his companion, looking at Apollo once more. "I leave the office to you, Justice. I will be back before you leave."

"Yes, sir!" he boomed, currently unperturbed by the fact that the entire building had probably heard him. He was happy with any chance to prove his responsibility, after all. It wasn't until the door had closed and he was settled back into his chair that he realized that he had never gotten the man's name.

Figuring then was as good a time as any for a bit of a break, Apollo fished his cell phone out of his pocket and powered it on. As a rule he liked to keep it off while he worked to rule out any potential distractions or unwanted interruptions, but there was always the possibility that he was contacted about something relatively urgent, so he checked it sometimes out of habit.

He heard it buzz from where it sat on the table as it powered on, signaling a new notification or two. Though the vast majority of messages he got were from Clay, he had been slowly amassing a log of calls and texts from Aura. Their correspondence was always rather awkward; neither of them led very interesting personal lives or had much of anything in common, but they somehow found a way to bond over complaining about work and one Clay Terran.

Upon checking, however, he was surprised to see a missed call from Solomon Starbuck highlighted. That was a little strange; Mr. Starbuck was a friend, yes, but he didn't normally call him out of the blue, and on a weekday no less. Apollo noticed an accompanying text waiting for him as well.

 _Hey Apollo. Sorry to call when you're probably at work, but have you heard from Clay? He didn't show up to work this morning and he won't answer my calls._

Apollo's stomach dropped.

Thumbs frantically tapping to return Mr. Starbuck's call, his mind raced through all of the possibilities that could have resulted in such an outcome. He and Clay had been texting back and forth just last night, and he had seemed fine. Had something happened? An accident? Surely someone would have heard; his father would have called to let him know.

The line rang three times before a voice answered him. "Hello? Apollo?" Something about the expectance in the other man's voice only made Apollo feel even worse.

"Mr. Starbuck? Have you heard anything? Is he okay?"

A disappointed sigh sent Apollo's nerves into a frazzled overdrive. "No, I haven't," he admitted. "He's late sometimes, sure, but he always calls ahead of time and he's never been _this_ late." He made a little noise. "This isn't like him."

Mr. Starbuck is right, of course; Clay was not perfectly punctual but he was never one to ignore calls or shirk of work for no good reason. "I see," Apollo says quickly. "I'm going to—I'm going to go check on him, I think. I'll let you know."

He can barely focus on Mr. Starbuck's voice as he thanks him, hanging up as quickly as can be considered appropriate and proceeding to dial Clay's number from memory. One beep, two beeps, three beeps… no answer. A call to their house phone and even Clay's father's phone yields the same result. A single revelation presents itself to him amidst the maelstrom of prospects in his mind and he thinks he might be sick—

Something had happened to one— _or both_ —of them.


	7. lucky stars

He asks one of the senior attorneys to lock Mr. Gavin's door for him on his way out of the office, and they don't argue with him; he's sure the look on his face conveys more than enough to warrant the odd behavior.

Clay's house is nearly an hour away by bike and he's not sure he trusts himself to ride carefully in such a state, so he instead opts to call a taxi—an expense he liked to avoid if at all possible, but this was as notable an exception as there had ever been. The address is rattled off like it's second nature (it is) and they're off. Apollo attempts to keep himself occupied by calling a few more times, and he's not too surprised to find himself greeted by the static-filled voice of a months-younger Clay asking him to leave a message.

He doesn't know a whole lot about Clay's extended family, but he tries to comb through what he does remember of his ancestry anyway. His mother had died of cardiac arrest in her thirties, which was way, way too young to even _begin_ to worry about such problems. His paternal grandfather had passed a few years later, having suffered through a particularly nasty form of lung cancer. He knew Clay's father had also smoked when he was younger—could that have something to do with this? It was also possible Clay had inherited cardiovascular issues from his mother, but it was unfathomable to think something could happen to him now, only just entering his twenties and in such great shape.

Of course, no amount of genetic tracing could predict something like a car accident. Apollo's eyes were scanning the roads they sped through the whole ride there. Clay was not the safest nor the most courteous driver in the world to begin with; compounded with the fact that motorists in L.A. frequently topped the charts in terms of most accidents per square mile each year, there was a definite possibility that the astronaut-in-training had been caught up in an incident.

Apollo is stepping out of the car before it even comes to a full stop, a stack of sufficient bills lying neatly on the center console. Nothing about the exterior of the house screams 'tragedy,' so he figures he can at least cross 'house fire' from the list of postulates in his mind as he approaches.

His key ring is rather barren. It has only three keys dangling from it—one for his apartment, one for the law office's main entrance, and one Clay and his father had bestowed upon him long ago. Never did he think he would have to use it in such a fashion, though he was thankful for the gift as he stepped through the door and into a familiar little foyer.

Immediately he could see troubling signs in the state of the room; the bowl which housed the Terrans' keys was off-kilter, signaling a hurried retrieval, and the door out to the garage was left unlocked. One of them had left in a hurry. Apollo picked up the remaining set of keys and determined that it had probably been Clay, whose keys were nowhere to be found.

From this alone he was fairly sure no one would be home, but he had to call out anyway. "Hello?" he called, voice impossible to ignore. He was surprised at how collected he sounded.

Receiving no answer, he pressed forward into the living room, focused entirely on finding any sort of clue that could help him understand what exactly had gone down to warrant such an abrupt exit. Nothing jumped out at him initially, as the room was always in a bit of disarray to begin with, but a glance into the kitchen revealed to him the scene of the incident—a plastic cup lay abandoned on the ground, half-dried milk surrounding it in a clear indication of having been dropped prematurely.

A thought struck Apollo then. People tended to only take the absolute essentials when they panicked. So it stood to reason that something not in its proper spot might have been forgotten altogether. Gingerly taking his phone out of his pocket, he dialed Clay's number again, and sure enough he heard the muffled Gavinners ringtone ring out from somewhere deeper in the house. He pressed his face into his free hand after he confirmed the same thing with his father's cell. _Damn_.

If he had to make a guess, he would think that Clay had taken his father to the hospital for urgent care. That was something, at least, but there were several hospitals in the area and Apollo had no clue which Clay would have chosen. The closest? The least busy? The one that specialized in acute care for whatever had happened? Apollo supposed he could call around and see if anyone could help him out.

Before he got the chance, though, he heard the front door swing open behind him. Whirling around as fast as his body could react, he felt a wave of relief wash over him when he recognized the messy mop of hair in front of him.

Clay was clearly frazzled; he stood in his GYAXA uniform sans the coat, trademark visor sitting lopsided atop his head. Nothing was out of the ordinary until he considered the uncharacteristic sag of his shoulders, the weight of some unseen burden pulling his usual charisma down with it. There is no trace of a smile in his features, though he does look surprised to see Apollo standing in his living room unannounced. "…Apollo?"

There were a lot of things Apollo could deduce from just this half-second glance—enough to confirm the majority of his suspicions, easily, but he's in too much of a hurry to confirm Clay's presence with his own two hands. " _Clay_ ," he half-booms, half-exhales as he hugs him. Clay is still for a moment before he returns the gesture with significantly less enthusiasm. This doesn't go unnoticed by Apollo as he releases him and backs away a bit, examining his face more thoroughly. "What happened? Mr. Starbuck called and I didn't know where you were either so I…" … _panicked a bit_. The only thing that had saved him ludicrous amounts of anxiety was his immediate switch to investigation mode—one of the many things he had learned to hone under Mr. Gavin so far.

Clay cursed under his breath, seeming to have forgotten for a bit his usual priorities. "Right… I'm sorry. I meant to call but by the time I even thought about that I realized I'd left my cell here," he admitted, eyebrows pulled together—just enough to convey a deeply rooted frustration that had probably been festering within him all day. "Dad had a heart attack this morning, and I… panicked."

Apollo felt as if he could feel his heart constrict. It was one thing to imagine a scenario during a bout of uncertainty and another thing entirely to be _correct_. "Oh my God," he let the first words that came to mind tumble out of his mouth. "H-how is he?"

The taller man gave him a half-hearted smile. "He's recovering. They really let me have it when I told them I didn't call 911 but… jesus, Pollo, could you imagine the bill for that shit? Our plan isn't even gonna _touch_ that. I thought it'd be faster to just load him up and speed my ass towards the nearest hospital anyway." He sighed, pulling his visor off and running a hand through his hair. "It… took a bit for them to confirm he'd be okay though. I… that was really fucking scary."

"I can't even imagine…" It was the truth. He had dealt with the slow realization that he had been abandoned by his former almost-father, but to powerlessly sit by and wait for updates on a family member in critical condition? Apollo couldn't even bring himself to entertain the idea in his head. "Thank God he's alright… your tendency to drive like a speed demon certainly paid off, huh?"

He hadn't really meant to try and make light of the situation, but Clay seemed thankful for the effort. "Tell me about it," he snorted, smile still not touching his eyes. "I only came back to get some things for Dad. Guess they want him to stay for another couple of days, monitor his vital signs and all that."

"I see…" Apollo very much wanted to accompany Clay to the hospital to see his dad for himself.

Clay didn't waste any time in recognizing that. "Wanna come with?"

"I do," he assured, "A lot. But… the thing is, I never explained to my boss why I skipped out on work."

The little smile Clay had managed to muster up was immediately replaced by shock. "What? Apollo! _Please_ don't let this be the reason you get fired."

Brown eyes narrowed. "Why are you saying that like it's inevitable that I _will_ be fired at some point?"

Before Clay could properly retort, Apollo's phone rang. He glanced at it, color draining from his face when he saw the name. "Speak of the devil," he muttered.

"I should probably call Sol now too," Clay said, moving away as Apollo exhaled, braced himself, and hit the answer button.

"H-Hello, sir?"

"Good afternoon, Justice." Perfectly formal and cool. Apollo winced. "I hear you practically flew out the door this afternoon shortly after I left."

"You've heard correctly, sir, but I _promise_ I can explain—"

"Oh? I gather it isn't simply a lunch break, then."

One of the tendencies he didn't appreciate about his mentor: the harsh passive aggression. "No, sir. I apologize for leaving early unannounced, I had every intention of calling to explain beforehand but it was kind of a family emergency and I was… really worried and it slipped my mind." Apollo's eyes were shut tight as he listened to the silence coming from the other end of the line. Surely he would understand?

A moment later he heard his boss inhale. "Is everything alright?"

He blinked, unsure of what he had been expecting. "Y-Yes, I think so. I haven't gotten the chance to see him in the hospital yet, though, so—"

"I see. You may have the rest of the day off, Justice. I'm sure I will manage. Just… do come by and pick up your bike. I don't want it sitting in front of the office all night."

"Oh, I will, sir! Thank you very much!" he burst out, thankful for his understanding. "I'll be in bright and early tomorrow."

Clay came out of his father's bedroom with phones and a few miscellaneous books in hand as Apollo hung up. "I take it you're not fired?"

Apollo pocketed his cell, smiling. "Not yet."

The drive back to the hospital was rather quiet. Clay's gaze was steadfast on the road, hands taking up the recommended ten-two position on the wheel that Apollo almost never saw. He took it upon himself to talk a bit, idly; anything to help distract his friend from whatever he must be feeling. Recovering or not, his only remaining parent was still in the hospital.

Their encounter with the woman manning the front desk was brief, as she seemed to recognize Clay and his uniform and waved the two of them by without so much as a word. His father was in a room on the second floor, settled comfortably in a bed next to the window overlooking the parking lot. There was an IV drip affixed to his arm and he had a few wires monitoring his vital signs, but he smiled when he saw the two of them approach. "Well, welcome back! Afternoon, Apollo."

"Are you alright?" Apollo blurted out as soon as they made eye contact. "How are you feeling?"

He chuckled. "Well, I've felt better," he conceded. "It sure hurt in the moment. But I'm doing fine now."

Fine was probably an overstatement. His already-graying hair somehow seemed grayer than usual, his usual healthy color subdued by recent happenings, and while his eyes were kind as ever he looked incredibly tired. Apollo knew he was _not_ fine mentally or even physically, not really, but admired his positivity in such a crucial time. Clay's presence probably made all the difference—he was concerned enough for the both of them.

"What did the doctor say?" Clay had set his father's belongings down on the little table next to him and was now crossing his arms.

"They want to put me on some medicine to prevent any more of 'em. Can't say I disagree with that."

Apollo glanced at the man standing beside him. He was the most serious Apollo had ever seen him, though it looked like he was trying to play it cool. "There wasn't any severe damage to anything?"

"My heartbeat's a little off," his father elaborated. He nodded with his head towards the electrocardiograph, which served to corroborate his claim. "But they say it'll should back to normal in a few days, and that's when they'll discharge me." He laughed. "I'm alright, son! I was very lucky you acted so quickly."

Those words seemed to melt a bit of the tension in the room, and Clay visibly relaxed a little. "…I see," he said, eyes closed in what Apollo knew was relief. "I'm really glad to hear that." He walked over to hunch over his father, clasping one of his free hands into his own. "I love you, Dad."

His father responded in kind, placing a hand over his sons'. "I love you too, Clay."

Thanking any and every deity he could think of that he could be here to see such a tender moment, Apollo watched on with a smile.


End file.
